


hair spray, foundation, powder

by denytheabsolute



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 11:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18314354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denytheabsolute/pseuds/denytheabsolute
Summary: Cecil has that one model at work that he just can’t stop looking at.





	hair spray, foundation, powder

**Author's Note:**

> this ended up longer than intended. hope you like it.

“Can you turn your head to the right,” Cecil asks the model in front of him. “Just a little.” The model does as he says and closes his eyes when he sees a slick brush moving towards his face, letting Cecil complete his eye makeup.

“All right,” Cecil speaks to himself. He was always speaking to himself when that certain model was the case. His name was Camus. Cecil had never heard someone refer to him with his full name. The model had always caught Cecil’s eye, with his cold eyes that instantly sucked one in, face noble and proud, skin shining with a blinding light that could only be that of a diamond’s. He, quite naturally, couldn’t keep his eyes off him. Camus was easily his favourite face to see at the backstage, who had been working with the brand for a few months now. If only he talked to him. The makeup artist was a naturally talkative person, and the subtle attraction he felt towards the model only made him want to talk more. He merely wanted to get to know the model, that was all. He didn’t even like him that way or anything (that would be funny), he just felt innocent curiosity about what those graceful hands occupied in when the model had time to spend on his own, what words came out of that red lips when he spoke to his friends in his best mood, what the soft, tempting locks looked like strewed over his mattress. Probably not as innocent as he thought.

Cecil dabs in some more powder to Camus’s face and fixes his dark lipstick “You’re all done.” The makeup artist smiles at the model, to which Camus only pays a glance and nods at. Whatever Cecil says draws a shake of head or a deep hum from the model at most. It wasn’t really personal though, as the blonde didn’t really talk unless needed. The number of times Cecil obtained the privilege of hearing the silky baritone was far less than satisfactory.

“One minute and you’re up,” a staff member technically shouts at Camus while walking quickly towards another model. One of the stylists takes a final look at the blonde model as he moves closer to the runway, confirming the necessary visual excellence. Camus takes his place in the queue of models awaiting their respective turns. Cecil looks at the model one last time, their eyes meet, an electric sensation spreads through his chest. He doesn’t nearly have the luxury to check people out while at work, though, so he moves onto another model whose makeup needs to be redone from scratch.

 

The show finally ends, and Cecil feels too tired to move a single limb. In addition, he has a headache. Tremendous noise of the backstage, constant exposure to eye-straining lighting results in a headache at best. Long minutes of running around, putting blush, fixing foundation, lining lips, combing brows... Cecil loses his sense of time while at work. Every single fashion show, although they rarely last more than twenty minutes, feels like three hours.

“I thought I was going to die this time,” speaks a fellow stylist, Masato, as the staff members leave the place one by one. “This one man comes up to me, the ornamentations on his shoulder totally out of place. Two minutes until he hits the runway.” Cecil snorts, the stylist paying him a glare. “I don’t even know how I managed to fix it.”

“But how did the model cause such a thing?” Cecil asks.

Masato shuts his eyes, exhales, angry “If only I knew. Some of them are really careless.”

Cecil smiles at his coworker, waves goodbye and heads out. As soon as he’s out of the building he takes a big breath, hungry for the fresh air lacking the traces of hair spray and several other cosmetics. The smell was incredibly strong, even lingering on his clothes afterwards.

He looks back at the building over his shoulder. Models, stylists, makeup artists, everyone leaves hurriedly as if running away from a fire.

The makeup artist subconsciously searches for that one very certain blonde among the models. Fortunately, he was easy enough to distinguish, his ash blonde hair was longer than most if not all. Cecil also finds a hint something completely different in the way he walks, the way he carries himself. Even in the way he stands. Chest up, head straight, arms moving just so slightly with every step forward.

Just as Cecil decides to change his direction towards the model, a man, definitely not one of his coworkers, runs up to Camus and starts talking to him. Cecil pauses. Nonetheless, he moves on, tugging at his coat, the strong wind making him squint.

 

The brand takes a break at the fashion week, only returning to the podium three days later. Naturally, most staff members and models stay in hotels around the area. That includes Cecil, and apparently, Camus as well.

The first day, they come across at a patisserie. Cecil’s eyes widen with joy when he catches the glimpse of that blonde hair. He greets the model, Camus is kind enough to return the act. Cecil then jokingly scolds him for eating junk. Camus only raises a brow at the comment, maintaining his silence. However, his lips twitch, and he can’t hide that from Cecil, not when the latter is such a master at reading people.

Next day, the makeup artist spots Camus trying to carry five bags full of...sweets. And hair products. Cecil finds the sight amusing. The elegant model with perfect looks totally frustrated, face in a sulk. The tall man smiles delightfully when the other lends a hand, and Cecil just melts right there. Sure, the stern expression Camus had while modelling was very beautiful and definitely an image he’d like to cherish, but seeing the tough man smile was just something else. Words weren’t enough. Cecil insists that he helps him carry the bags until they reach the hotel Camus is staying, and Camus has no chance but to give up upon such stubbornness. Surprisingly, the hotel Camus stays at is right across the street from Cecil’s. Camus earnestly thanks Cecil, his blue eyes warm for once, and takes the elevator. As the doors shut, Camus smiles at Cecil, again, although it’s a little crooked. Cecil feels heat move up to his head.

The last day of their break, Cecil hangs out with Masato. The stylist was calm, quiet and clever, Cecil had always enjoyed his company. They sit outside a small café together, Cecil orders a soufflé while Masato opts for herbal tea instead.

“Hey,” Masato quietly speaks. “Isn’t that that model?” He keeps looking behind Cecil.

Cecil jolts in excitement “Where? Who?” He turns around, unashamedly.

“That one,” Masato replies, even though he knows Cecil isn’t paying attention to his words at this point. “The long haired, blonde one.”

The makeup artist hunts for the model with his eyes, checking technically every spot. There he is. Camus stands next to a wall, looking at the phone in his hand, a frown in his face. Tight, black jeans enveloping his firm legs, a loose, short sleeved maroon shirt tucked in. He also seems to hold a dark coat in hand. Does he not get cold? Cecil personally never took off his jacket, the weather a little bit too cool for his liking.

Masato touches his shoulder, an attempt at making him turn back “Hey. Don’t eye him so explicitly. It’ll be creepy if he sees you.”

“Yes,” Cecil obeys the warning. “You’re right.” He fidgets with his hair, unable to sit still.

A mocking smirk graces Masato’s face “Falling for a model, I see.”

Cecil goes red with embarrassment “No! It’s nothing like that!” Masato raises a brow, the smirk still present. “He’s just very pretty.”

“He is a model. Models are supposed to be very pretty. You work with tens of them, yet I’ve never seen you act this way about one before.” The stylist leans in “What’s special about him?”

His question remains unanswered as Cecil groans into his hands, burying his face in them, instead of responding.

Masato laughs, the sound friendly and sincere “Okay, okay. I’m not making fun of you, just try not to fall head over heels, yeah? I’m assuming you haven’t already. It’s for your own g-“ His phone starts ringing, startling the blue haired man. He scowls, answers the call in a cold manner “Hijirikawa.” His expression softens as he hears a familiar voice. The phone call only lasts ten seconds.

The stylist lets out a sigh, putting his black phone on the marble table. The phone makes a rich sound when it hits the surface. “They want me back,” He stands up, brushing at his pants, grabs his phone. He puts a hand on Cecil’s shoulder, strokes it. “Last rearrangements. By the way, go talk to him,” He says as he looks at the model standing, maybe, fifty meters away. He turns his gaze back at the man seated, winks and starts walking.

Cecil doesn’t know what to do. As much as he wants to talk to the man, something also holds him back. Maybe it‘s his detached behaviour, or the stone-like toughness in his eyes, but he feels afraid. He had smiled at Cecil, though. Yes, he certainly had, no mistaking. But Cecil had been generous and kind, his help earning him a smile was nothing too big. Anyone would smile at him.  
Thoughts keep flooding into his mind. “Screw that,” Cecil says under his breath, suddenly standing up, determined in his advance.

“Sir?” A waiter approaches him with the soufflé he had ordered.

“Here,” Cecil quickly leaves the payment on the table. “I’m sorry.”

He starts walking towards Camus, trying to seem as casual as possible. As casual as he could seem with the the blush on his cheeks and thunder in his ears.

Camus notices him, greets him with a nod.

“What are you doing here?” Cecil asks.

Camus shrugs “Just enjoying the weather.”

“Enjoying?” Cecil chuckles. “Isn’t it cold?”

“Not really.” The model squints, brows lowered. “Maybe it’s just me, though. I grew up in a northern country.”

“What a contrast,” Cecil leans onto the wall, next to Camus. Camus watches him, carefully. “I grew up in the south.” The model nods, looks ahead.

Cecil starts speaking again “I’ve been meaning to say this for a long time,” Camus glances at him. “You’re definitely the most beautiful person I have seen. I can’t get enough of you.” The model’s eyes widen just so slightly. “Ah, that sounded different than I thought.”

Camus looks away, smiling, his normally pale complexion now adorned with a red tint “Thank you.”

“It’s not just about your looks,” Cecil continues. “The way you move, the way you walk, the way you just... Exist. Your whole being is elegant.” Cecil can’t believe what he had just said.

“You’re very beautiful, too,” Camus speaks and Cecil blushes, again, heart skipping a beat. All effort made into calming down, now wasted upon hearing a single sentence. “I thought you were a model when I first saw you.”

“You’re being kind.” Cecil can’t stop smiling.

“No,” Camus answers, his tone stern. “I mean it.” The two men look at each other for a few seconds, no significant emotions on their faces. The air feels heavy around them.

“Would you... like to hang out?” The makeup artist blurts out. “We could have a drink. Or eat. Anything.”

Camus nods “That’d be a pleasure.”

 

They spend the evening together. Camus shows him a good confectioner, Cecil is amazed by how he found such a place in such a limited period of time. Cecil, also, notices the model’s surprising sweet tooth. “How do you keep your form?”

Camus stays silent for a while, munching on the raspberry cream pudding “I don’t know.” Cecil laughs at the honest response.

They walk on the way back together, the sun having already set. Cecil feels warm, a small smile on his face that he can’t get rid of. Similarly, the model’s expression seems to have gained a certain softness, his gaze welcoming and almost warm.

“Thank you for today,” Camus speaks when they finally reach the hotel, voice soft. Cecil smiles at the taller man.

“No need.” He doesn’t know how to say goodbye. Cecil holds out his hand without thinking much, a failed attempt at shaking hands which then turns into holding Camus’s hand tightly.

Camus doesn’t give away any reactions other than his glance instantly moving down to their hands, fingers unintentionally laced “See you tomorrow.” He smiles subtly, then enters the hotel hall.

Cecil returns to his room with absolute euphory. The hours he got to spend with the model had only strengthened his attraction. The more he looks at the blue eyes, the more he feels like falling down a cliff, the more he watches the golden gleam migrate throughout the fair hair, the more he feels miserably possessed by the man. 

 

“Sorry for being inconsiderate,” Masato speaks to Cecil on the phone, as the makeup artist tries to put on his shoes. “I hadn’t realised I made you pay. I feel really bad about it.”

“I told you. It’s okay.” Cecil tries his best to comfort the man.

He hears a loud sigh at the other end of the line “If you say so. Then I’m hanging up. I’ll see you soon enough, anyway...One show today and another tomorrow, and we’re done for the week.” And he does as he says.

Cecil almost chokes on his spit when he spots Camus waiting for him in front of the hotel entrance. Graceful as ever, the man smiles at Cecil when he steps outside.

“What brings you here?” Cecil asks as they start walking together.

“You,” Camus answers, not facing the makeup artist. “I mean, I thought it’d be good to walk together.” He looks at Cecil, concern apparent in his features “It’s okay if you do not want to.”

“No,” Cecil responds. “I do.” Camus only hums at the statement, doesn’t say a single word until they arrive at their destination. Masato playfully smiles at Cecil from afar when he sees the two walking together.

The way Camus acts towards Cecil had certainly changed. The way he tilts his head back when Cecil asks, exposing his pale neck, had become something the makeup artist didn’t remember sensing. The way he looks at Cecil, watches him as he lines his lips, his free hand holding the model’s chin, had evolved into something else. Rather obedient. Cecil wants to ask him for more, different things.

The makeup artist madly wants to dispose of the images flashing before his eyes every time he closes his eyes shut. Camus, looking up at him as he puts on lipstick, eyes directly carving holes into his soul, white torso shown off with a transparent tank top, hair straightened, falling freely on his wide shoulders. Camus, letting out the best noises one could hear when he gets a little bit too rough while applying eyeliner. Cecil is almost sure the man does all that on purpose. He definitely isn’t bothered, instead he longs for more, wants to push the boundaries to get a better idea of what kind of sweet sounds Camus is capable of making.

 

“Joke’s on me now,” Masato says to Cecil as he sits on the floor of the room Cecil stays at. “You fell head over heels for him.”

“Probably.” Cecil knew it was no use to deny the undeniable.

“You seem to be getting along, though,” Masato hugs his legs. “He looked pretty relaxed with you today after the show. And I have never seen that guy relaxed. What was his name again?”

“Camus.”

“Ah, right. Like Albert Camus. Except it’s his first name.” The stylist smiles to himself. “Do you want to start a relationship with him?” He makes it sound serious, as if it’s a matter of life.

“I think so,” Cecil sighs.

“I wish you two all the best,” Masato says, too formal.

 

The last show finishes smoothly, earning the brand a good amount of appreciation. The staff members hug each other, congratulating their success worthy of bragging. Cecil tightly hugs Masato who normally despises touching, but he hugs back just as tight.

Cecil decides he would wait for the blonde this time. He stands right in front of the building entrance, back facing the door.

“Awaiting me?” asks a familiar voice. Cecil looks his way, only to be welcomed with a playful grin.

“If you don’t mind,” Cecil replies. Camus shakes his head, taking his place beside the shorter man, the two start walking slowly.

Cecil suddenly speaks “Camus.” The model looks at him, waiting for the rest of the words. Cecil forces himself to talk “I think you have realised that I, you know, like you. Romantically. Rather a lot.” Luckily, Cecil wasn’t one to get shy easily.

Camus’s steps slow down. The makeup artist braces himself for rejection. 

Camus giggles “I have. You should have realised that the feelings are mutual, too.” Cecil looks at him in surprise. “How could you miss that part?” The model cups Cecil’s face, leaning down so slowly that it’s painful. “May I?” he asks, his voice a deep whisper. Cecil smiles, kisses the former without bothering to answer, one hand stroking at his jaw. Camus gasps into his mouth, shocked, wraps his arms around the other’s waist firmly, not daring to break the kiss just now that he finally gets to taste what he couldn’t stop thinking about.

Cecil pulls away “I have to breathe.” Camus quietly chuckles at that. The former holds out his hand “Will you?”

Camus inspects his hand for a moment, before holding it “Definitely.” His hands are cold, but they feel familiar. Cecil cherishes the weight of it next to his own palm, never wants to let it go.

 

Cecil places a kiss on the sleeping man’s temple, the blonde grunts in response, not yet fully awake. The other smiles, watches the view in front of him, his lover sleeping peacefully with his skin reflecting the newborn sunshine and soft, tempting locks strewed over his mattress. Cecil lies down beside him, the older man embracing him, still half asleep.


End file.
